


Intimacy

by ClassyWillow



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-23 08:18:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13783497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyWillow/pseuds/ClassyWillow
Summary: They were always together, they had to be. Together. He needed to be able to read her better than anyone. They were forever interlocked, connected, physically and mentally, no matter what. Together. It was work, it had to be about the game, the training, the mental toll it took on their personal lives - it didn’t matter because it was about the game, about the team, about the ring. They needed to be in perfect sync with one another, she needed to trust him and vise-versa.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please also note my baseball knowledge is TERRRRRRRIBLE

  
  


The relationship between a pitcher and catcher can determine success or failure of a team, Mike gained her trust early, he learnt the way her body responded. He knew her preferences from hours of watching her minor league games, learnt her pace watching her in the cages, he got in tune with her like it was the only thing that mattered on this earth. He spent time, he put in the hard stuff, made an effort to learn her properly so he’d never be caught off guard. He learnt her mentally. She hated the attention, she hated being the girl and singled out but liked her own space, she loved sleeping, hated cilantro, listened to Katy Perry and hummed terribly. He knew she worked hard and didn’t let her hair down often unless she was with him.

 

They were always together, they had to be. Together. He needed to be able to read her better than anyone. They were forever interlocked, connected, physically and mentally, no matter what. Together. It was work, it had to be about the game, the training, the mental toll it took on their personal lives - it didn’t matter because it was about the game, about the team, about the ring. They needed to be in perfect sync with one another, she needed to trust him and vise-versa. 

 

Outside of the game, together was press conferences, being up at stupid o’clock in the gym together, practice, stretching, physiotherapy sessions and then going through hitters. Arguing and jesus she argued until her voice goes hoarse and she has no more heat. Aggressively talking their shit out, passive comments to one another, ignoring and yelling and if Mike was honest he never questioned it - he was just doing his job. Sometimes he reminded her who her captain was and she in turn reminded him he was being an asshole. 

 

The attention surrounding their relationship shouldn’t have caused so much fuss, if she hadn’t been a girl the vulchers wouldn’t have battered an eyelash but it seemed every trashy magazine ran a story  _ ‘Baker and Lawson caught having a romantic breakfast AGAIN’ _ but in truth she’d shoved down her bacon in the most unsexy way he could think of. The world seemed pressed on making a story out of nothing. 

 

The ice baths, the appointments, they were intertwined. The schedules married up, he was there for every single interview, pep talking her, talking shit with her, the celebrations and the travesties. In truth he played the game for her, kept his shit in check for her. He would have retired the year before. He had nothing but baseball but the ache in his knees, back, it didn’t compare to leaving her out on that mound to her own devices, sure she’d be okay but the intimacy… selfishly it was theirs and only theirs and he knew she felt the same way. 

 

On the anniversary of her father’s death, first pitch, he knew just by the simple movement of her body she was stiff and tight. He’d called it and ran up to the mound - found her blurry eyed and holding on by a thread. She’d looked at him, covered her mouth and told him straight  _ ‘It’s his anniversary’ _ . He’d grabbed her tight on the mound, hugged her close and covered his mouth against her shoulder  _ ‘I’ve got you, Baker.’ _ she’d relaxed and threw a perfect inning, he’d always have her. In hindsight he shouldn’t have went in for it, considering the backlash. 

 

After the game, her smile had been tight lipped enough to remind him to keep his distance, the media would be on them more than necessary so he’d kept his facade up at the post game broadcasting. When the reporters had bombarded the visitor change-room and he’d been questioned he’d half grumbled it was none of their business what happened between a catcher and pitcher on the mound and thanked whoever was listening she was a woman and had her own private space post game. 

 

He’d seen her on the way out the stadium and she’d been crying, it crushed him. Knowing she’d dealt with it on her own. Knew she felt like crap, her eyes were bloodshot and her sweats were loose, her chipper smile was nowhere and her shoulders hunched. He’d nodded his head, a silent understanding, no matter what - she could lean on him. When they’d gotten on the bus home her head had dropped to Mike’s shoulder and he squeezed her knee and dropped a firm kiss to her hairline and she’d drifted off to sleep quickly. 

 

The attention when the were back in their home town seemed over the top, every interview ended in a  _ ‘So what’s going on with you and Ginny Baker?’  _ and Mike would dodge or ask them to god-forbid actually talk about the sport he worked his ass off to play. Twenty times in the past two weeks he’d been asked so Ginny stopped watching his interviews. When they played against the Cardinals one of the fielders yelled out some choice words indicating a personal relationship was going on between her and Lawson and she was mad, she’s angry at the game, the media, the fact she’s a girl and stupidly at him. At Mike who has been nothing but the perfect teammate, catcher, confidant and friend and jesus christ he notices. 

 

It’s in the quiet of her change room at St. Louis in Missouri that he walks in on her packing her bag and closes the door behind him leaving them by themselves.

 

“What is it with you?” he asks point blank, face serious and concerned while blocking the door just enough for her to see that neither of them are getting on the bus home until she’s told him what's going on. “The calls were good, something happen on the field?” 

 

“No,” she sighs and stops shoving crap in her bag and levels a look at him because her movements are too sharp to come off nonchalant. “I’m just tired, I’m sick of the media and I’m sick of this game.” and now that he’s opened up the red room of her feelings it’s like she can’t shut it off, she’s talking and she can’t take it back, “I’ve worked so hard to be here, but I’m frustrated. I want to go home, I want out of this sport. I need a break, it’s one thing after another here and I hate I can’t look at you right now without loathing you for what happened the other day because it was what I needed. I hate that everyone has turned it ugly when it wasn’t, I need to sleep, I’m exhausted, I want to be alone, I want to be with you, I want to just be.” she finishes off with a huff, her eyes turning blurry with unshed tears. 

 

“Ginny,” Mike whispers softly with so much care and concern it makes her want to throw up because she’s not sure it should be like this between them, she shouldn’t feel so unnerved by the way he states her name. He walks forward, bringing her close to his chest, arms wrapping tightly around her, one hand against the middle of her back and the other at the back of her head and he lets her cry into his chest. 

 

He takes her back to his hotel room that night, supplies her with his sweats and armed with a shit load of take-out and a bottle of wine from the mini-bar. They talk about everything sitting on a luxury couch in an over priced hotel room. He learns about her past this time, she spills her guilt, her mothers affair, her father's death, she shares it all, the heavy burden of living the life she’s lived. How she worries about her brother, how apart from him she’s lonely. He listens and rubs her feet. “I use to have a big crush on you, you know?” she giggles into her wine glass, eyes glistening. And Mike laughs because at this moment she’s twenty four and carefree. He hasn’t seen her like this in a while, probably not since her injury. “When I was a teenager,” she continues. 

 

“Rookie, you’re still a teenager,” he scoffs ignoring the swell of adoration he feels in his chest. He sure as hell knows it shouldn’t be there, considering the backlash they copped earlier in the month. He shouldn’t play with fire, should probably steer this conversation elsewhere and put her to bed. 

 

She ignores him, “I did have your poster,” she takes a sip as if she needs the liquid courage for her next admission, “and I still have your Rookie card.” she states so simply as if it doesn’t change everything for him. And it probably shouldn’t, but it does. He doesn’t want to admit to himself they’ve passed the balance of teammates, they sure as shit aren’t only battery mates anymore. He’s had a lot of Rookies and none of them he’s been so intertwined with like her. 

 

He nods at her to continue because he can see her thinking face is trying to organise her thoughts and she does, “What’re we doing?” she says paying with the bottom of her wine glass and Mike starts playing with her toes distractingly because he doesn’t really have an answer either. 

 

“I don’t know,” he finally says. 

 

And she nods holding his eyes, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and removing her feet from his lap in composed resignation. “Okay for me to sleep here?” she asks, putting her glass in the sink of the kitchenette and then glances back at him, he nods but his eyes are fixed on his hands as if deep in thought like he can’t get his head right. Like looking at her might show her too much and Ginny’s glad, relieved even because she’s had too much wine and she’s aware tonights conversation is definitely treading the balance they’ve so carefully guarded. 

 

When she wakes up the next morning she’s not surprised to find his arm looped around her abdomen, they’ve slept together before and it’s definitely too intimate and too much. His breath fans across the back of her neck and his legs are lodged to the back her knees, her back fully aligned with his torso and chest and it’s nice. She stirs a little, placing her hand over his on her stomach and he presses his lips against her neck in a soft deliberate way to tell her he’s awake but not moving. 

 

“I’m scared of losing you,” he confesses against her neck, and pulls her tighter against him as if it explains everything squeezing her fingers against her stomach, “I don’t know what we’re doing because I don’t want to lose this.”

 

And the truth is he’s right, losing this - it’d kill her. As if he has a sixth sense for her body, her thoughts he continues, “I’ve got you, Baker. I’ll always have you,” he whispers against her nape. She knows he’s telling the truth, she knows how he feels. 

 

“I don’t want to lose you,” she echoes and pulls their laced fingers up to her mouth kissing his hand softly. 

 

When they return back to San Diego everything is lighter. She’s in a good mood, they’ve won the last few series and the noise around them seems to have settled as much as it can. They continue just being, dodging the repeated question regarding their relationship status(es). They aren’t together and the team back them, management back them banning any questions related to them but that doesn’t stop the talking heads from blabbering on and the paparazzi taking photos. 

 

When Ginny pitches a perfect inning leading them into a win and a shot at the ring, he runs at her grabbing her by the hips and spinning her around as her legs instantly lock around his waist and her head tilts into his neck. “You did it,” he half sobs, half laughs into her neck. Hand holding the back of her head against his shoulder and his other hand gripping her thigh. She laughs and pulls back eyes teary, “We did it!” she laughs and all their teammates run around them clapping them on the back. 

 

When he finally puts her back on her feet Ginny’s eyes lock with his, toothy grin and all and they make their way back to the clubhouse with the rest of their teammates. It’s in this moment he realises just how in love with her he truly is and wouldn’t the media eat that up. 

 

The networks and talking heads want answers,  _ ‘why did they celebrate their victory like that if they aren’t together _ ’. Speculation runs wild and the same question comes up in every single post game interview. Trying to put a label on what the hell they are when they haven’t even figured it out. “So Ginny, what’s the relationship like between you and Mike Lawson?” some obnoxious reporter asks right after “How’d it feel pitching that last pitch?” 

 

“Emotions run high after a win, we’re unique, our relationship is unique,” Ginny said, addressing the same question she’d been asked countless times in the past three hours. What she really wants to say is  _ Fuck off _ . After she says they’re unique her eyes scan across the table back to Mike and Mike’s got that smirk on his face, the one reserved for when she’s got a cheeky streak in her, like he can read her mind. Mike continues her sentence, “but how about the Padres having a shot at the ring?” 

 

When they walk out of the press room into the secluded underbelly of the stadium, “Unique?” he snickers. Mike wants to laugh because that’s probably the most accurate description for their relationship within this sport. “Could have went with teammates…” he laughs taking her bag off of her shoulder and slugging it over his. She frowns at him, knowing full well his back must be killing him after the hours they’ve been putting into practice and the gym but she doesn’t protest. 

 

“Maybe I should have said, I’ve been in love with him since I was thirteen and built my whole motivational career speech to stay in this sport because I wanted him to be my catcher?” she laughs, she doesn’t falter, whether she realises it or not. But Mike’s beside himself. She said she loves him. But then again he already knew - she hasn’t explicitly said it but its in her actions, the way she knows him, the way she is around him. How open her expressions are with him, she’s unguarded too honest and readable. He feels it when she wakes up in his arms on the odd occasion they sleep (just sleep) together.

 

He ignores the protest in his heart, pulling at him to say he fucking loves her back, to kiss her, to feel her, to give away and finally just fucking do it. “Drinks?” he chokes out. One of the guys hear him and laugh clapping him on the back, “Of course drinks.” 

 

After countless beers and shit talk they’re left in the booth together as the rest of the team dance out on the makeshift dance floor of a secluded bar. Ginny’s grinning from ear to ear swigging at her beer and laughing at Vhoories’ hips shaking against Buck. It’s a fun night and full of happiness, so when she turns to him and levels him a serious look he leans back, “What’s that look for?” he questions, taking a pull of his beer and gearing himself up. The look only means trouble. 

 

“I’m scared.” she says with such conviction and he knows exactly what she’s talking about because he’s right there with her, he knows exactly where her head is at and she mustn’t have forgotten what she said out in that hallway. Mike scoots closer to her as if to sooth her anxiety and loosen up his. “The attention won’t fade, Gin.” he says honestly, taking her beer from her hand and placing it on the table, moving to face her properly. “We have a lot of time, Baker. I’m not going anywhere.” and his finger lace her jaw and pull it up to meet his gaze, “You know I’m not going anywhere.” 

 

“People are so invested,” she says, tugging her lip between her teeth. 

  
“I know,” Mike agrees, leaning in and placing his forehead against hers, rolling around as if trying to find the right words, but she’s too quick for him to formulate his thoughts without accidentally bursting the imaginary bubble they’ve placed around themselves. “I am too.” she tells him quietly against his lips, looking straight at him. Good god, she’s killing him. 

 

At the same moment, Blip bangs his hands against the table. “Alright love-birds, none of that photographers get a hold of that shit you’ll be in deeper shit then you already are.” And any bubbe they formulated is burst instantly and the wall comes up again around them and they aren’t in their own little world. She smiles and slugs her beer back at the same time Mike does and they continue the rest of the night as if what happened didn’t. 

 

When it’s time to go their separate ways he knows she’s coming back to his house. 

 

The invisible line has been drawn in the sand and they breached it tonight. Hell they’ve been breaching it since before the anniversary of her father's death. They breached it the moment it was okay to kiss her on her forehead or hug her intimately, hell they breached it the moment he started thinking about her before anything else. When he settles against her she’s already sleeping, her body shifts and she cuddles closer to him. He listens to her breath and wonders how he’d cope without this, this kind of intimacy. He’d never had this with anyone, never with the countless hook-ups before her and not with his ex wife and they’d never even kissed on the lips. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you ever think in another lifetime we’d be like this?” Mike’s eyes catch hers in the reflection, “I don’t know, but I’m glad we’re in this lifetime.” and she smirks at him, brushing a little harder. She’s sure in another alternate reality they wouldn’t but it’s nice to imagine something different for them. “Me too.”

They’ve got time. It’s in his smirk at her from across the hallway, from across the team bus, from across the 40 feet that separate them on the field, it’s in the dugout, it’s in the press room and the gym. It’s in every delicate touch he bestows on her when no-one's looking, it’s in the way he wraps his arms around her when they’re alone and it’s in the way his lips delicately touch the top of her head. 

 

Until they don’t have time, until he tells her one morning in his glass house, glass bedroom, they don’t have all the time in the world. She should have known it’d end, the intimacy, he’s thirteen years her senior after all, he’s at the end of his career and she’s at the beginning. When he tells her he’s retiring he does it when she's wrapped around him one Monday morning, her leg is hitched over his, her arm wrapped around his middle and her heads resting against the apex between his shoulder and collarbone. His rubbing small circles into her thigh and his lips are in her hair. She’s stopped trying to make sense of how they seemingly end up in this position. 

 

She pretends she doesn’t hear him, she pretends she’s asleep. He whispers softly against her hair, “Gotta talk about me retiring, Gin.” but she doesn’t move, she doesn’t want to acknowledge his admission. She doesn’t want it to be real, she wants to ignore the nausea that seems to be traveling up her body to her throat. She doesn’t want to admit to the tears forming behind her eyelids and she sure as hell doesn’t want to lose him. 

 

His fingers encase her thigh tightly as if he can read her mind, but the doctors have told him if he continues the way he is he’ll need a left knee reconstruction as well. Two bung knees and a bad back, he’s at the end of his career, at the end of his streak and he can’t go out on first base. He wasn’t made that way, he was made to be behind the plate calling pitches to her. He was made to finish off this leg with her. “Talk to me,” he whispers and she can tell his throats clogged with emotion, she can tell by the stiff movement of him swallowing he doesn’t want to retire, he doesn’t want this to be the end either. She nods softly against his skin and her head nestles closer as if this could be the last time they are together, her hand moves lower on his side, caressing the skin at the bottom of his ribs. 

 

Realistically, she knows she’ll get a new catcher but her head? Her heart? It’s telling her no one will compare, it’ll never be the same. A whole season away and it fucking hurts.

 

She tries to make light of it, tries to make him and selfishly herself feel better at the prospect of not having this, “You know you’ll miss me.” but it hurts, everything hurts. He lets out a humorless chuckle and then everything goes quiet. They stay like that for hours before he moves her lightly, seemingly thinking she’s asleep and goes to the bathroom. When she hears the shower running she makes her way out of there, like she doesn’t want to see him, talk to him, actually discuss the prospect of him abandoning her. 

 

When he sees her at PETCO the same afternoon, she doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t acknowledge him and it’d be a lot easier if their schedules didn’t marry up. It’d be a lot easier if they didn’t have a game in two days, if they weren’t traveling together to New York. It’d be a lot easier if she couldn’t feel his gaze burning a hole into her chest. So she runs, she runs and runs and runs, she stays longer than she should, she listens Ed Sheeran songs of love and heartbreak, internalising her own shit. She keeps him at a distance for the following games, she needs to come to terms and he lets her as if he begins organising post game broadcasting gigs to get his name out there. His agent as been all over him about phase two. It becomes common knowledge throughout the clubhouse he's only got one more season in him and everyone respectfully doesn’t talk about it because they can tell the tension is high between the catcher and pitcher. 

 

Mike doesn’t push though, he just watches from a distance, lets her do her own thing. On the field, they’re a well oiled machine but outside of Baseball, they’re a mess of longing, he can’t stop looking at her and she can’t stop avoiding his gaze. When he corners her in the underbelly of the stadium one sunday afternoon he doesn’t say anything before leaning in and caressing her chin. He corners her against the wall, one arm stretched, palm flat against the wall. He leans in, caressing her bottom lip with his thumb, “You gonna’ keep staying away?” he asks softly against her lips. Ginny lips upturns against his thumb, quirking at the edge, “Is that what I’m doing?” 

 

“The media might start talking about a lovers tiff, we haven’t been out for breakfast in a while.” but what he’s really saying is she hasn’t been over in a while, she can tell by the lock of his jaw that he misses her, his soft touch, they way she can read his eyes, “You miss me?” she asks turning her face into his palm and Mike’s eyes cast down to her lips and back up and they’re a pool of longing, “Yeah, Gin.” She takes a deep breath in, slouching a little because the past few days have been weird for her. 

 

“I need to learn to do this without you,” she says, pain minced in with her words and Mike breathes, because it hurts. It hurts knowing she’ll be doing this without him, she’ll be training without him, on the field without him and it’s a reality he hasn’t quite got a grasp on himself. He nods but leans in closer, “I know.” he says softly, jesus christ he bloody knows. When her eyes go back to his they’re glassy, pools of words she can’t say, he can’t accept. 

 

They stay like that for too long, long enough for someone to walk by them and him to be jolted back to reality, he pushes off the wall putting a professional distance between them and she nods softly as if she gets it but he really doesn't want her to get it anymore. He wants to draw her close and comfort her, comfort himself. 

 

When he hears the soft knock at his front door he knows its her, by the soft rasp of her knuckles against the painted wood. When he opens the door and she plunges inside into his space he can’t help but smile. “I’m sorry, you retiring isn’t going to work for me,” she says into his shoulder. Her hands locking around his waist and body aligning with his own. He laughs into her hair, hand shuffling through her curls and holding her head closer into the crook of his neck. “Doesn’t really work for me either,” he murmurs. She laughs, because she knows he doesn’t want this. 

 

She pulls back toeing off her shoes and dropping her training bag and Mike moves back to the kitching pulling her out a mug. He makes them hot chocolate and takes her over to the couch. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you,” she says softly, sipping at her drink and not looking at his face. Mike shudders at the intensity of her words, he watches her watch her drink. She doesn’t look up and he moves closer, pulling her feet up to his lap like he’s done so many times. “Hey, look at me,” he says softly, leaning over her legs. When she looks up at him she has those glassy eyes again and Mike feels the jolt in his chest, “You’re a great pitcher.” 

 

She nods but it isn’t convinced and he moves closer like he needs to fix this, like he needs to remind her when his actions not only his words. “Baker,” he murmurs, “You’re going to be one of the greats whether I’m catching your lollipop fast ball or not.” 

 

She laughs now, closing her eyes and letting those few tears out. “Common now, you’re going soft on me, Rookie.” but in truth he isn’t sure he’d want to play without her anymore. If she were traded a few months ago he wouldn’t have stayed and that’s the truth. The game isn’t worth it without her on his side. 

 

A short time later, when they’ve finished their mugs and they’re in his bathroom brushing her teeth she lets out a little laugh, “Do you ever think in another lifetime we’d be like this?” Mike’s eyes catch hers in the reflection, “I don’t know, but I’m glad we’re in this lifetime,”. And she smirks at him, brushing a little harder. She’s sure in another alternate reality they wouldn’t but it’s nice to imagine something different for them. “Me too.” 

 

It’s not until the lights are off and she’s wearing his shirt in his bed, her long messy limbs wrapped around his body he finally admits the truth into her hairline, “I couldn’t imagine a reality I don’t have this with you.” He must think she’s asleep because he isn’t expecting her to reply, “Neither Lawson, I want this forever.” it’s not exactly a promise but it might as well be. He just pulls her closer and goes to sleep. God, he’d do anything for her. 

 

A few weeks later it’s when she gets beaned Mike loses his shit. He doesn’t realise this until Blip and Vhoories are pulling him off the opposing pitchers where his closed fist connects with the opposing pitchers jaw. “The fuck are you doing?” Mike yells, trying to shake their hold. “Come on man, settle down,” Blip consults. But all Mike can see is red, the pitchers hand should be broken for pulling a stunt like that. He still doesn’t realise until Ginny’s got a hand on his shoulder in the dugout while Blip and Vhoories struggle to hold him that he finally settles down. “You okay?” he asks roughly, hand moving to her jaw and pulling her face up to look at him, she’s sitting down on the bench with an ice pack on her thigh and her eyes are angry but laced in pain. She nods softly, her eyes moving to the side where the camera is on them. 

 

Her eyes cast back to his in warning and Mike nods in understanding and moves his hand away quickly. It’s bad enough he went rambo on the field in her defence, last thing they need is an intimate gesture in the dugout. Their teammates pick up on it quickly and move around them shielding any outsider views, “We’ve got you,” Blip says. Ginny’s lip quirks and Mike moves in closer again, “You okay?” he asks hand going back to where it was as he crouches down between her outstretched legs. “Hurts a fucking lot,” she says laughing a pained sound. Mike nods, shifting the ice pack and holding it to her thigh as her hand comes up to cover his other on her skin. “Should have broken his hand,” Mike says roughly, looking around to his teammates. It's a brawl after that, the game doesn’t recover. 

 

When they’re leaving the hospital later that night she smirks at him from his side, she’s got a small limp but refuses to let him help her. She’s got a crutch supporting her step and the paps are everywhere at the exit. Mike looks at her, “You ready for this?” she nods one of those determined nods, and shifts her cap over her face. Amelia’s already out there telling them to make way for her to move to Mike’s parked car in the ambulance bay. “This is ridiculous,” Ginny mutters and really, it truly is. 

 

When they arrive back at his house she turns on ESPN straight away, shuffling to his couch ice pack in hand holding it to her thigh. The reporters are going crazy over the injury, over Mike’s quick defence, video footage showing him stalking straight to the pitcher and tackling him to the ground. His fist connecting quickly to his rib and a lot of yelling the microphones couldn’t pick up. Ginny giggles looking over the couch to Mike in the kitchen, “What’d you say to him?” 

 

“Told him he was a piece of shit,” Mike says annoyed, in truth he’s still pissed he didn’t get to stomp on his hand. “Would have got a lot more hits in if Blip and Vhoories didn’t pull me off.” Mike says honestly. His eyes moving back to the TV where the footage of him caressing her cheek comes on, the talking heads speculating a non-professional relationship between them. Again the footage replays, zooming in on the look in his eyes, pure fucking love written all over it, concern and fear she’d really gotten hurt right there for the world to see. Another talking head analysing the caress.  _ “Mike Lawson, thirteen years her senior obviously feels more for his Rookie pitcher than the pair are letting on, there’s definitely something intimate going on there… I wonder what this means for them and the ring...”  _

 

Mike rolls his eyes moving his gaze to her and she’s looking at him with a knowing smile, “Definitely something intimate going on there…” she mimics the female reporter, “Excellent now I’m going to be asked the age old question tenfold,  _ ‘what’s going on with you and Mike Lawson’ _ ” and Mike laughs because there’s sure as hell a lot more going on than what they’ve shared with the media. He’s about ready to tell the fucking world he’d do anything for her, tell them he fucking loves her. 

 

“And so what’s going with Mike Lawson and you?” he asks mocking the reporter’s voice. 

 

She smirks from across the lounge at him, she’s sure he’s not expecting her to answer him truthfully, “I’m a little in love with him,” she says, expression turning serious and her teeth latching onto her bottom lip. Mike blinks and then blinks again but doesn’t say anything like he’s not sure he’s heard her properly. She nods at his questioning look as if to say, _ yeah I just said it.  _

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay.” 

 

They don’t talk about it after that, continuing to watch the reports and putting in their commentary every now and again, mocking the tv personalities until she falls asleep. When she does finally settle and he can hear her breathing evening out he just watches her trying to burn it into his memory, this perfect moment. A completely average moment and she’d confessed her feelings, ice pack against her thigh in her uniform of lycra leggings and tank top, hair a mess from the game, dirty still from the field, in his living room after months of dancing around their relationship. Dancing around the intimacy between them. 

 

When he stirs her to wake up for the pain killers and a shower, she looks at him in the vulnerable moment between awake and asleep and she’s got that dreamy expression on her face and Mike’s breath catches, he’s seen her in this moment too many times to count but it’s never been heavy like right now. It’s never meant more to him than this moment, he crouches down beside the lounge where she's laying and she turns to him on the sofa, he looks at her, fingers moving her hair from her face, “I’ve been a little in love with you since you slapped my perfect ass.” 

 

She smirks that sleepy smirk, “I know.” 

 

He wants to kiss her and she must know this, she watches him and he knows this should be the moment. He can see she wants him to kiss her by the parting of her lips and all he’d need to do is lean a little and he’d be there, exactly where he’s longing to be. But he also knows he still has another season with the Padres, he still needs to be her captain and catcher and if he kisses her now he won’t be able to stop. He doesn’t kiss her, his eyes move back up to her eyes, pleading with her to understand. She frowns a little before shoving up off the couch, legs coming up in front of her, “Sorry,” she murmurs, completely awake now. And the moments passed. 

 

When she finishes showering and fish’s his shirt out of his closet, pulling it over her body and moves into his bed she puts distance between them. When he moves towards her, she moves away and Mike gets it. He’s hurt her, he can tell by the way she faces the other way not a single limb touching him, the tension is in the air, against the walls, against his chest. He should have kissed her, in his fear of losing her, he’s lost her tonight. 

 

When he wakes up he’s surprised to see she’s missing from his bed. She’s missing completely from his house, her bag is gone and her shoes as well. He knows it’s a mistake straight away. He calls her and she doesn’t answer, he doesn’t hear from her until he catches her at PETCO in the training room. She’s on the treadmill, earphones in her ears and he knows he should give her time to process and come to the same conclusion as him but he can’t. He nods towards his teammate, a silent understanding to clear out and give them a minute. Her eyes roll as their teammate leaves the gym area and closes the door behind him. Ginny’s eyes cast straight in front of her at the wall, ignoring his presence completely. Mike frowns moving to her line of vision but her eyes downcast to the control panel of the exercise equipment. Mike pulls up an eyebrow surprised at her determination to avoid his gaze, his hand lifts to the control panel to alert her but she ignores his instistance again, shoving at the buttons and picking up her pace. Mike laughs to himself, pressing at the control panel and turning it off. Her eyes move up to his and her anger is so intoxicating he beams. He likes feisty Baker. 

 

“What’re you doing?” she barks, pulling the headphones from her ears aggressively. It’s all bite and Mikes lip quirks at her annoyance. Although completely his own fault it’s aimed at him, he likes it. He’d be lying if it wasn’t great to his 37 year old ego she’s got the shits because he didn’t kiss her the day before last. “Getting your attention obviously,” Mike says sarcastically. 

 

Her scowl grows, eyebrows shooting up at his audacity. “I don’t want to talk to you right now,” because she sure as hell doesn’t. Not after she embarrassed herself. She had wanted him to kiss him so fucking badly it makes her sick. She's been reading the last few months completely wrong, the mixed signals, the caresses, the time, the moments, she’d been reading it so fucking wrong. The fact he hadn’t kissed her makes her fucking angry. Angry at herself for falling for him, angry at him for saying he loved her, angry at herself for laying her ass on the line like that. 

 

“Yeah, Baker. You do.” Mike says with that smug look on his face, the same smug look he gets when he knows he’s right about something. The same smug look he has when he picks up on her pissy attitude and what it’s about. “I sure as hell don’t,” Ginny says aggressively rubbing her neck with her towel and moving off the machinery, her arms crossing at her chest defiantly. 

 

“I pissed you off,” Mike says mirroring her stance but his face hasn’t changed from being all smug and arrogant. 

 

Her teeth jar against each other and she grinds them, doesn’t he fucking get it. “Yeah, you have.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

She jolts back, looking around the gym and then back at him. She wasn’t expecting him to ask that, is he fucking stupid? She’s really angry now, how dare he. He’s the one who spent the time building them, “You told me you loved me,” she spits, eyes shifting away from him, “And then…” she stops mid sentence because she’s not willing to fucking say it. 

 

“...I didn’t kiss you.” he says finishing off, smug smile still all over his expression. 

 

Her eyebrows shoot down into a frown, confused, “Yeah.”

 

“Do you know why?” Mike asks softly, stalking forward into her space but she's as defiant as ever. She’s not in the wrong here, she sure as hell has every damn reason to be pissed. “Oh, please, tell me,” she says mockingly, looking at him in the eye, her jaw twitching and ready for a fight at whatever lame excuse he comes up with. 

 

Mike really looks at her now and he realises she really has no fucking idea. “Because, I kiss you,” he says roughly at her, leaning in close to her face breath puffing against her lips. His fingers moving to her chin and tilting her head up slightly, “I’ll never stop kissing you,” his eyes scan her face, moving backwards and forwards from her lips to her eyes. “And I’ve still got another season with the Padres, another season as your catcher,” He watches as her face softens and he moves even closer. He's hand moves up, cupping her jaw properly and her eyes turn heated. He watches that switch go off, the one thats gone from angry and frustrated to telling him she wants him to kiss her right fucking now and its aggressive and a heated jolt to his stomach. The same jolt he gets when she gives him that cheeky smirk on the mound or in the press room or when she’s ribbing him or watching him in the ice-bath or on the occasion he wakes up with a hard-on against her ass and needs to put necessary space between their bodies. “So yeah, I want to kiss you. But I do that, I won't fucking stop and out there, on the field I won't be able to pretend to the world I'm not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always welcome! I hope you liked this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Please also note I did mature, because I think this is going to turn mature next chapter!


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